


Big Spoon, Little Spoon

by Ellie_Rosie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_Rosie/pseuds/Ellie_Rosie
Summary: One time Victor was the big spoon, and one time Yuuri was.





	1. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise for this. It's Christmas night, I've had four glasses of champagne, a couple of shots of vodka, and a large mug of Bailey's. So this isn't my best work - but then again, I probably wouldn't be posting if I wasn't tipsy because I suck at everything. It's been four years since I last posted fanfic online (and never on here before) so I'm more than a little rusty.
> 
> Anyway. So my idea was inspired by a tumblr post pointing out how things are pretty balanced between Yuuri and Victor in terms of their relationship, which got me thinking; who would be the big spoon? This is a result of that.

The first time they share a bed it’s an accident. 

There was a muddle with the hotel, and by the time they checked in all other rooms had been booked. There was no swapping. And so there they were, stuck with a double bed instead of twins.

The room was nice enough. The window looked out onto water that glistened like damp eyes in the starlight; it danced. Yuuri loved every aspect of ice, and looking out of that pristine window it was easy to remember that ice came from water. It was Yuuri’s job to give the ice the lyrical fluidity that it had in its former cycle of life. The walls and furniture were like something out of a high-end paint chart – a million different shades of white. The walls were sea foam, the bed was freshwater pearl, the plush carpet overnight snow. Victor kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his socks. He sighed out in silver as the soft carpet stroked between his toes like sun-warmed sand. Everything smelt fresh, new, like an overpriced department store on ribbon-cutting day.

Victor peeled off his clothes unabashedly, digging through his hold-all for some pyjamas. Yuuri backed away into the pristine en suite, shutting the door hard behind himself. He had found Victor’s self-confidence intimidating at first, the way he was so at ease with himself, but now he found it endearing. In fact, he _adored_ it. Victor was happy with himself, with who he was both physically and mentally, and it was something Yuuri was fundamentally happy about. Victor loved himself, just as he should. Victor saw himself as everyone else did, and Yuuri was glad; he deserved to know how loved he was. And then it hit Yuuri, something he’d perhaps already known but never really considered: his chief concern was that Victor was happy.

This revelation bought a blush to Yuuri’s cheeks and he tried (unsuccessfully) to wash it off with by splashing cold water on his face. Finally giving up on the enterprise, Yuuri padded back through to main area of the room.

This was where the trouble started.

Victor was already sound asleep. Totally out for the count. Which would have been fine, if only he didn’t sleep spread out in star shape, like he was trying to break the world record for the most surface area covered by a human being. He’d stumbled across a fallen star. It wasn’t like he could stop himself – Yuuri just stood in the en suite doorway gazing at Victor. At the whisper of his breathing. At the hug-soft rise and fall of Victor’s chest. At how he’d buried his cheek into the marshmallowy pillow. At the gentle slice of a smile on the older man’s face. He looked open, content, earnest. But still; he was taking up roughly 95 percent of the bed space.

Half hating himself for disturbing the angelic vision before him, Yuuri gently poked the centre of Victor’s head. The lines of Victor’s eyes crinkled but didn’t split into a sunrise. Yuuri poked again, a little bit harder this time. No reaction at all. He raked a hand semi-gently through Victor’s hair, and he got a purr in response. A _purr_.

Thus, red-faced, Yuuri found himself curling up into a tight bean shape in the limited space between the splayed limbs on Victor’s left side. Ignoring the painful cramping in his tightly folded legs, Yuuri managed to fall into something like sleep.

When Victor woke up it was that sticky space between latest night and earliest morning. And he was cold. No. Not just cold. _Freezing._ He reached to pull the duvet tighter around himself, only to find that no duvet was present. 

Rubbing confusedly at his hair, Victor sat himself up and reached to turn the bedside light on. He flinched at the sudden brightness. Once his eyes adapted he instantly clocked where the missing duvet had gone; Yuuri had parcelled himself tightly in it. He tugged, but it wouldn’t come. Victor tightened his hands around the edge and pulled as hard as he could. Still, nothing. If he hadn’t known better he would have suspected Yuuri of having superglued the blanket to himself. He would have to get Yuuri to apply this surprise steely strength to his skating.

“Yuuri.” Victor whispered. He plunged his hand into the mass of blanket and found Yuuri’s shoulder. He squeezed, gently. Whilst part of him didn’t want to wake his protégé, didn’t want to disrupt the peaceful calm or break the slight curve of Yuuri’s lips, the rest of him was feeling _extremely_ cold. “Pig-in-blanket.” 

When Yuuri didn’t so much as stir, Victor rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. Like Sleeping Beauty, Yuuri’s eyes flickered open, his eyelashes feathering in smudged black halos.

“Yuuri!” Victor beamed at him. Yuuri squinted, his vision somewhat limited anyway without exhaustion pulling at his canthi. Slowly, he unfolded himself, blinking around the way a baby does when it is woken up by a loud noise.

"S’it morning already?” He rubbed at his eyes, the action sluggish. Without his glasses, he couldn’t quite decipher the quirk of Victor’s lips, the pastel glow of Victor’s eyes, the overall adoring softness.

“Nope. But you are hogging the blanket.” Victor reached out and snatched it away before Yuuri had chance to react beyond throwing him a profoundly troubled pout. “That’s better.”

“ _Victor._ ” Yuuri crossed his arms over his chest. Sleepy, pouting and grouchy, he very much resembled a toddler up past his bedtime. Victor committed the image to memory. “I’ll get cold. And you were hogging the whole entire _bed_.” 

“Hmm.”

No sooner had Victor’s look of deep thought been swapped for a look of elated delighted than Yuuri found himself being pulled and moved and then bandaged up by a blanket. Not just by a blanket, but by two strong, sturdy arms. There was something solid pressed to his back, and with a jolt he realised that it was Victor’s chest. He would have sworn that he could feel the steady pulse of Victor’s heart.

“That better?” Victor asked, poking his head over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Spooning is good, yes?”

“Y-yes.” Yuuri could feel heat chasing up his cheeks. “Much, better.”

Victor was snoring before Yuuri had even finished talking, his nose pressed to the younger man’s cheek. Yuuri was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him; the silken puff of Victor’s breath against his skin, the place just above his belly button where Victor’s hands were knotted together as though scared Yuuri would fall off the face of the planet if he let go of him, the cold spike of Victor’s ankle against his heel. Everything was Victor. Victor Victor Victor _Victor._ All around him and everywhere. He was suffocating and he wasn’t entirely sure that he minded. Victor smelt of peppermint. Why did he smell of peppermint?

 _Great_ , Yuuri thought, _how am I supposed to sleep now?_

But then. _Then_. Victor’s thumb started to draw half-moons on Yuuri’s stomach and the younger man found himself melting. And then he found his eyes shutting. And then he found himself thinking _home_ and _warm_ and _yes this is exactly where I’m meant to be._

 And then his eyes were opening to the angel feathers of morning sunlight falling down, tickling his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay, and thank you very much for reading it!
> 
> There will be a second part up (probably tomorrow) featuring; Makkachin, St Petersburg, and Yuuri as the big spoon.


	2. Home

Yuuri had softened the edges of Victor’s apartment, and Victor found that he didn’t mind the way the chromatic whites and greys had been trickled with greens and reds and blues, or the way the regimented tidiness had given way to calm clutter. Victor wasn’t sure when it had happened exactly, but it had gone from being a base of operations to being _home_.

There were traces of Yuuri everywhere and in everything. In the small pile of blankets huddled into a mountain at the end of the bed. In the multitude of half-full mugs left littering around in random places (usually without a coaster). In his sleek white wardrobe, which was now a melting pot of the two skaters’ clothes. In the way the vast majority of Victor’s sweaters now seemed to be permanently stained with Yuuri’s petal-light scent of fresh tingling salt, like a sea breeze (Victor thought it utterly wonderful, and had tried to return the favour but had only achieved the comical over-stretching of one of Yuuri’s favourite sweaters, which Yuuri had then repurposed as a blanket). In the way Makkachin would pace restlessly around in matriarchal worry if Victor came home before Yuuri did (Yuuri assured Victor that the beloved poodle gave him the same treatment) and would then bound delightedly to the door when her new master finally did get home. In the way the bedside table on the left side of his bed was no longer an empty tundra, but was now populated by a glasses case, a leaning tower of books and a framed photograph of a much younger, childhood-chubby Yuuri beaming down at the fluffiest puppy Victor had ever seen. It was in the glimmer of silver hung amongst Victor’s storm of gold on hooks above the bed. You could make wishes on shooting stars, but staring at the sun for too long hurt. 

Everywhere, dotted about the apartment, were little reminders that Victor was very much not alone.

It had taken time for Yuuri to adjust to life in Saint Petersburg, and he thought he had only managed to do so because of Victor’s help. It was a few degrees colder in Russia, but Victor was always there with open arms, ready to cuddle him into warmness. He couldn’t get his mouth or eyes around the language, but Victor was there to translate (he’d tried having Victor teach him Russian, but Victor didn’t really have the patience for it and was only interested in teaching him swear words). Whenever Yuuri became homesick, Victor would pull him into his arms and there they would sit, Makkachin nuzzling her head affectionately into Yuuri’s lap. Victor had even gone through the pains of learning how to make katsudon, which Yuuri would eat through gritted teeth and then feed to Makkachin under the table when Victor wasn’t looking. He wasn’t sure what weighed heaviest on his conscious – not eating food that Victor had made especially for him, or forcing said food on poor, innocent Makkachin. 

One day in mid-December, when the sky was pregnant with snow, Yuuri slipped into the apartment. The first thing that struck him was the lack of Makkachin trying to bowl him over and kill him with kisses. He looked around at the deserted apartment as he tugged off his scarf and gloves, kicked off his shoes, slung his skating bag down on the couch. 

“Victor?” Yuuri called as he pottered through to the kitchen. But no, it was empty there, too. No signs of life beyond an erupting volcano of washing up yet to be done. He went back to the living room, thinking that perhaps his fiancé had taken Makkachin for a walk, only to find her leash coiled up on the coffee table. “Vitya? Are you home?”

A small buzz drilled its way through Yuuri’s veins – what if Victor had packed up all of his things and left? What if Victor had woken up that morning to the sudden realisation that, actually, he was _way_ too good for someone like Yuuri? In Yuuri’s mind, these were both very really and very frightening possibilities. 

But then he found himself shaking his head. He loved Victor. Victor loved him. And to doubt it would be doing a disservice to Victor.

He walked through to the bedroom to get changed into some sweat-free clothes (namely, Victor’s favourite purple sweater). His feet were heavy as he walked, like he was trekking along the seabed in one of those old fashioned diving suits.

And then it was like he was rushing up through thick swathes of water, bursting out into the amber sunlight, able to breathe again. Because there Victor was, sat on the edge of the bed, slumped sideways against the headboard, very much asleep. Makkachin was curled up next to him, head in her master’s lap. Yuuri could feel a smile stretching up his face. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture. _Payback_ , he thought – Victor had developed a penchant for taking pictures of an unaware Yuuri in his ‘natural habitat’ and posting them on his Instagram with nauseating captions. Without a hint of remorse he tapped the ‘post’ button along with the caption _someone’s gone and got himself all tuckered out._

His phone on the bedside table, Yuuri crept forwards with the earnest intention of making Victor as comfortable as possible; Yakov had been hard on Victor lately seeing as skaters of his age were usually planning their retirement rather than a grand comeback (Yurio had joked that Victor was going to be the Yoda of the figure skating world), and although Victor was strong, it was starting to show. In the way he held himself, in the way his eyes lit like torches instead of beacons, in the way his evening conversations were fifty percent yawns.

Yuuri knelt down before Victor and untied his fiance’s shoes, easing them off followed by his socks. Gently petting and massaging Makkachin into compliance, Yuuri coaxed the poodle a little further into the middle of the bed without her even opening an eye. He scooped up Victor’s legs and rested them up onto the bed, stretching out the long limbs, letting his fingertips feel the solidness of muscle. He looped his arms around Victor’s back, shifting the older man to be lying down properly.

Yuuri stepped back to admire his handiwork. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched Victor roll over to bury his face in the soft scent of Yuuri’s pillow. Grabbing a blanket from the plethora piled at the end of the bed, Yuuri bundled his fiancé up with quick, deft hands. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to forgive himself for waking up such an angelic sleeper.

He reached to tuck a strand of silver behind Victor’s ear, a mindless act of devoted affection, when a slither of blue peeked out at him. Yuuri’s cheeks flushed. 

“Sorry, Vitya. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He kept his voice low. The creak of the bedsprings as he sat down felt too loud. “You go back to sleep.”

Victor’s hand found Yuuri’s and squeezed softly. It felt like music. 

“Spoon with me.” Victor’s voice was gravelly with sleep. He peeled the blanket open at his front. “You woke me up so now you have to spoon with me. I don’t make the rules.”

Yuuri stared at him for a moment, acutely away of the heat gnawing at his cheeks, and then softened into a smile. He nodded. However, instead of going around to tuck himself up into Victor’s chest as was usual, Yuuri laid down where he was, roping his arms around Victor, one twined over the Russian’s waist and the other reaching over Victor’s shoulder so that his hand rested, splayed, somewhere between Victor’s heart and belly button to meet its twin, buckling the older man in. He pushed himself close to his fiancé, throwing one leg over Victor’s waist so that he sort of resembled a koala clinging to a tree. He wanted Victor to feel just how Victor made him feel; protected, content, warm, and so loved that it felt like he should be a character in some impossibly-perfect fairytale. Sure, things didn’t always feel like that, but with Victor’s arms around him they did. 

Impeded by his somewhat limited height, Yuuri found himself with his nose pressed to the soft warmth of the back of Victor’s neck, his forehead tickled by feathers of silver hair. He pressed a kiss to warm skin.

Victor folded his hands around Yuuri’s, and it was like an electric circuit had been completed. Everything flowed in gentle, easy warmth. In that moment, his eyelids adhesive with sleep, Victor realised just how his apartment, over the past handful of months, had become _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure that this turned out the way I wanted it to, but I still hope that you enjoyed it, and thank you very much for reading it! :)


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